I'd like to tell you about the Tucson Marathon I ran last month. First, though, please understand that running can be dangerous especially if you're overweight, a smoker or have other medical conditions. If you ever do decide to try it, see a physician and get their O.K. first.
The Tucson race starts early. I woke at 3:15 race morning after about six hours sleep. I’d set my race gear out the night before. I put a thin layer of Vaseline on my feet then slathered it on all possible friction points until I felt like a greased pig. I then put on a matched set of running clothes my wife had given me and special, lightweight racing shoes. At well past 50 years old was going to try and run 26.2 miles in under 3 hours and 35 minutes and qualify for the Boston Marathon. Only about 5 out of 100 marathoners ever do. Some die trying.
At 5:20 a.m. we went down to the hotel lobby and found it full of very fit looking runners. The icy morning air was a shock when I stepped outside to catch the bus to the start. My wife kissed me good luck and I said simply, “I’ll qualify for Boston today”.
The bus ride was dark, quiet and almost dream-like. I ate a bagel laced with peanut butter and honey, sipped my bottle of water and listened to other runners make small talk. One would try (and fail) to make the Olympic trials that day. Another had trained at 7,000 feet altitude while working in Peru for a month and would run the race of his life. I felt peaceful; the 700 miles I’d run and 90 hours of strength training I’d done over the past 16 weeks made me light and fast with incredible stamina. I knew I was ready. The one odd moment was when some character made an uninvited religious speech to the rest of us on the bus but I was in too good a mood to be distracted. Finally, about 25 minutes before the start I got down to my running clothes, gently stretched out my hams and quads, wished everyone left the bus good luck and again stepped out into the cold.
By then people outside were getting tense and wasting lots of energy with nervous jogging and loosening up. Not this old dog. I dropped off my clothes bag and found a quiet spot on the side of the road about 50 feet behind the start to make sure I didn’t hold up anybody faster. Sadly, people whose body fat said they’d put less time into training than the electronic gadgets or munchies they were packing began crowding toward the front. Ten minutes before the start I drank an 8 oz bottle of Gatorade. By then I was really slipping into my pre-race cocoon. I told myself “Start easy and hit your splits. You’ve done the training. Just run your race. Don’t screw it up.”
The start was less than dramatic. The announcer played the national anthem, counted down the last ten seconds then just shouted, “Go!” The pack only held me up for 25 seconds before I crossed the starting line and hit my watch. Predictably, many of the gadget and fanny packers dashed away at the start. I chuckled and said to myself, “See you in a few miles, guys.” I gently covered the first mile with its two uphill stretches in 7:43 and the downhill second mile in 6:57. The first ten miles were nearly perfect: rolling downhill, no wind and with the early sun not all that cold. I drank the two 4 oz flasks of Gatorade I’d carried and tossed my outer tee shirt by mile 7. My breathing was easy; the miles clicked off at 7:25 pace. As expected it was much easier than the tough course I train on at home. I focused on staying relaxed, leading with my waist and with my feet lightly striking at mid-sole. It wasn’t even 3 miles before I began passing the ones I’d watched start out way too fast. Their ragged breathing and heavy footfalls were painful to hear. I was glad that by mile 7 or 8 I’d put that bunch behind me. Things changed around mile 12. A stiff wind with gusts to 20 mph was blowing directly in our faces. I heard flags on the road signs flapping as I went past and saw dust clouds in the fields next to the course. It was a real drag since I was on 3:17 pace and smoothly clicking off the miles.
I kept my effort the same but against the wind ran I only 7:55 miles until mile 20. I tucked in behind several people but they slowed down and I had to leave them behind. I had two 1 oz. packets of honey and I choked them down at miles 16 and 20 and both times felt their sudden jolt of energy. I took no more water after mile 22. By mile 20 I knew a sub 3:20 was probably out of reach but sub 3:25 was still possible and it would put me in the first starting wave at Boston. At mile 22 I was 14 minutes ahead of qualifying pace and knew I had my spot at Boston locked up. It felt magical. I was running pretty much alone by then (in the last 13 miles I passed 73 quality marathoners and only 3 had passed me. Amazingly, though the half-marathoners started 30 minutes before I did and had 13 miles less to cover I passed at least 70 of them as well. At mile 22 I hammered the pace and at mile 25 was rewarded with a wicked stitch under my right ribcage that lasted until almost the mile 26 marker.
Shortly after the mile 26 mark I forgot all about side stitches. Two police motorcycles were parked on the course with their front wheels overlapping. As I got closer I saw they were shielding a downed runner who was being attended to. As I went by I thought, “I want to pass them all, but not like that.” It wasn’t until I got home days later that I found out it was a 40 year old runner from Colorado who'd come to Tucson with friends to try and qualify for Boston. He died there on the course that morning. My heart goes out to his family and friends. Needless to say, his death has put the race in an entirely different and darker context for me. My warning about getting a doctor’s O.K. before taking up running is no joke.
Unaware of how terrible the situation was that I'd just passed, I quickly ran the last few hundred yards and finished well under 3 hours and 24 minutes. I was wobbly for just a moment after stopping but recovered quickly. I found my wife and we were as happy as a couple of kids. Without her help and support I could never accomplish anything like this. The post-race goodies were excellent with bottled water, tubs of bagels, peanut butter, bananas, pretzels, crackers, cut oranges, soft drinks and Cliff bars. I wandered back to the finish line and cheered other runners in. An hour later I was back at the hotel under a hot shower feeling tired but uninjured and very, very content.
It takes about four weeks to recover from a marathon before I can or even want to train hard again. Since then I've run about 110 miles and happily gained about 6 temporary pounds. Next week I'll begin training specifically for Boston and it's hills. Thanks for reading.
